


No Rest For the Wicked

by Pineprin137



Series: Wincest Codas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Coda, Demon Deals, Episode: s03e16 No Rest for the Wicked, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: Dean deals with the effects of getting dragged to hell by Lillith's hell hound.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Wincest Codas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671544
Kudos: 61





	No Rest For the Wicked

Sam leaned forward on the couch and creased his forehead, brought out the puppy dog eyes. “Can you tell us what happened next?” 

Margie Smith shrunk back in her chair, tucked her feet beneath her. “It was awful… he-- he said he heard this like, howling noise? But I couldn’t hear anything.” 

Sam felt Dean go rigid beside him. 

“He just stopped talking… his mouth was moving, but it was like he couldn’t get the words out. And his eyes… I’ve never seen anyone that scared in my life. Then he just-- Michael’s never been a runner, barely even jogs but-- one second he was right there in front of me and the next-- _whoosh_. Gone.” 

“That’s when you fell?” Sam asked. 

Margie’s eyes focused on Sam. “I didn’t _fall_ , Agent, I was pushed.” 

Sam quickly backtracked, “Of course, my apologies.” 

After a moment, she continued. 

“I felt this--” a humorless laugh escaped Margie’s mouth and she took a shaky breath. “It was this hot breath on my legs and something rough like um, fur? I freaked and tried to run after Michael, but it kno-- knocked me down-- God, I’m sorry… It felt like something out of a horror movie, you know?”

Fresh tears ran down her cheeks and Sam waited for Dean to offer the tissue box sitting on the coffee table. But he didn’t. In fact, when Sam glanced at his brother, he saw Dean’s fist clenched tightly, his breath borderline-frantic. He frowned before turning back to their solo witness. 

He picked up the tissue box and held it out to her. The young woman sniffled and plucked one, dabbing at her eyes. 

Sam gently urged her to continue, “That was when it broke the window?” 

“Yeah… I heard this scratching from the uh, table I guess,” she gestured toward the large cherry dining table they had checked out shortly after arriving, “then there was a b-- big crash and glass flew everywhere. And then Michael… I heard him scream… It was horrible. I can still hear it in my head. The sound of something tearing into him--” Margie broke off with a loud sob and wrapped her arms around herself. 

Sam heard a loud gulp come from the man beside him.

Dean suddenly stood. “‘Scuse me...” he mumbled. 

Sam watched his brother hurry down the hallway and disappear into the bathroom. Staying on task, he allowed Margie a few minutes to compose herself before he continued his questions. 

“I understand that this is a terrible time to ask, but do you know what Michael was doing ten years ago?” 

She answered him with a frown on her face, “H- He was with me _here_. Why?” 

“Do you remember if anything drastically changed around that time? Maybe he came into some money? Or got a new job?” 

“N- No. _He_ didn’t… but um, I- I got pregnant.” 

Sam glanced at the photo hanging on the wall. The little boy had Margie’s eyes and Michael’s sandy blond hair. “Your son, Dylan?” 

“Yes. We’d been trying for almost five years at that point. I’d practically given up hope but Michael had faith.” 

The woman seemed peaceful, remembering happier times so Sam decided to take advantage.

“He pushed for you to try again?” 

“Yeah, he went out one night and when he came home the next morning-- He kept saying that he could feel it in his gut. This time it would work. We would get our baby.” She smiled softly. “Nine months later Dylan was born.” 

Dean came back into the room, stood behind the couch. Sam nodded to Margie and thanked her for her time. Telling her once again how sorry he was for the loss of her husband.

The brothers walked back outside and down the sidewalk to where the Impala waited. As soon as the doors shut, Sam removed his suit jacket and Dean tugged at his tie. 

Knowing that Dean wouldn’t want to talk about it, Sam kept his voice quiet when he asked, “You alright?” 

His big brother’s hands flexed, curling around the steering wheel tightly. Sam could see the hard set of his jaw, the edge of fear in his green eyes. 

“Dean?” He inquired softly, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

His brother glanced over at him, the silent plea clear. 

Dean cleared his throat. “So what did she say? Hubby make a deal?” 

Sam moved his hand to the back of his brother’s neck and squeezed lightly. “Yeah. He and Margie were having fertility issues. She said he left one night and came back with a whole new outlook. Their son Dylan just turned ten last week.” 

Dean shifted the car into Drive and pulled onto the street. 

“You’re telling me that Husband-Of-The-Year made a demon deal to get his wife knocked up?” Sam nodded. “ _Jesus._ ” 

“They were desperate, Dean. Margie told me they’d been trying for five years with no luck. She gave up hope. Michael probably figured it was the only option left.” 

“Yeah, well. He should’ve known better. What the hell did he think was going to happen when he made a deal with a demon?” 

“He didn’t want to lose his wife. I get it. Family is everything. They just wanted a family--”

“Yeah, well, now because Mr. Smith decided to bargain with Hell, his kid doesn’t get to grow up with a dad.” 

Sam stared at him. “Seriously?” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“I get that you’re grumpy, but that family-- they deserve sympathy, Dean. Not judgment.” 

“Daddy Dearest made his bed and now _they_ have lie in it. I don’t feel sorry for him, Sam. I feel sorry for his wife and kid. Because they have to keep going _without him_ .” Dean turned his head and glared out the window. “I’m not _grumpy_.” 

Sam’s bitchface made an appearance. “Dude. You’re always grumpy after you get sick.” 

“I didn’t get sick. I’m _fine_. What do you want to do about Fido?” 

Sam sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, “I mean, is there anything we _can_ do? Now, that Michael is dead, the hound will move on, right? Find the next victim?” 

The Impala coasted to a stop in front of their motel room and the boys got out. Dean leaned his elbows on Baby’s roof. “I hate hell hounds…” 

It was meant as a joke, but Sam heard the underlying sincerity in his brother’s voice that suggested this case was bringing up memories of the night Lillith’s hell hounds tore him apart. 

***

_“Sick em’ boy…” Lillith taunted as she opened the door._

_The hound jumped at Dean sinking its teeth into his leg and dragging him to the ground._

_“No!” Sam cried out. “Stop it!”_

_The hound bit into his brother’s shoulder and Dean yelled, his body contorting as he tried to get away._

_Sam shouted at Lillith, “Stop it! Stop!”_

_But the hound kept digging, claws pulling the flesh from Dean’s chest. Snarling and ripping until Dean’s body stopped moving, his eyes wide open… lying in a puddle of crimson red._

“DEAN!” 

Dean narrowly avoided getting smacked in the face by his brother’s flailing arms. 

“Hey, hey, Sammy, wake up!” He pulled Sam into his arms and began rocking him. 

“Baby, I’m right here. Okay? I’m here, Sammy.” 

Sam wrestled against the strong arms wrapped around him until he realized it was Dean. Dean… who was alive- _here-_ not in Hell. 

“No, Sammy. It’s okay. Cas got me out, remember? I’m here, with you.” 

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, baby. It’s me. I’m safe. Okay? We’re safe… Just breathe. Shh.” Dean cradled Sam’s head in one hand, kissed his temple. 

“I thought you were gone--” 

“I know. I know, Sammy, but it was just a nightmare. Okay? It’s over.” 

Once Sam calmed down, the boys got resettled. Sam’s cheek resting above his big brother’s beating heart, his hand lying on Dean’s shoulder. Dean wrapped one arm around his little brother and used his other to pull the sheet back up. He rubbed Sam’s arm slowly, lulling him back to sleep. 

In the morning, the boys didn’t talk about the night’s events, they just went through their normal routine of showering, coffee, collecting all of their things…

Dean didn’t speak up until they were about thirty miles outside of Lebanon. “I gotta be honest, I was expecting it to be me.” 

Sam looked up from the notebook he’d been scribbling in. He shrugged. “Honestly? I was kind of thinking that too.” 

Dean laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I just-- it brought up a lot of stuff I’d kind of chosen to forget about.” 

Dean snorted softly, “God, I wish I could… ”

“You still think about it?” 

“I try not to, but sometimes I can’t help it. Like this case, you know? I’ll probably need whiskey to sleep.” 

“I’m sorry, Dean. If I knew it would bother you…” 

“Hey, don’t. It’s okay, Sammy. I’m _okay_. I can handle it.” 

“But you shouldn’t have to!” 

Dean sighed. “Sam, we’re hunters. Demons and Hell come with the territory. I’ve learned how to deal with it. I’ll be fine in a few days.” He leaned over, pulling Sam towards him and kissed him. 

“We good?” he asked Sam. 

“Yeah.” 

“Awesome. Now, why don’t you tell me about this ghost? Because I could’ve sworn this morning you said it was haunting a chocolate factory?” 

Sam smiled. “So get this…” 


End file.
